


The Fundamentals of Seeing Colour

by Owlheart101



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Don't villanize Jon or Arin or Dan please, Fluff, Involves every emotion ever, M/M, Soulmate AU, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlheart101/pseuds/Owlheart101
Summary: To put it simply, Jon didn't understand.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for choosing to read! Feel free to leave a comment, question, or concern down below!

_We live in a world in which a person has their designated other half, referred to as a 'soulmate'. This applies to every living human. We are born without the ability to see colour, existing with merely black and whites. When two soulmates make physical contact for the first time, however, this changes. At the first touch, the pairing will be able to see in colour, a phenomenon that many people dedicate their lives to experiencing._

 

It was Barry who introduced them. Jon's humorous, bearded roommate had met the man by chance, and they'd immediately bonded. Barry had come home that night with a relentless grin, babbling to Jon about this new friend of his. Arin Hanson.

After putting up with never-ending stories and jokes about this Arin fellow, Jon finally took Barry's advice and texted the guy. Brief introduction, well-timed joke, and they were off. Two amigos brought together by the beautiful ties of fate, or some shit like that.

They did get on perfectly. Late night conversations and idealistic dreaming gave them the idea to have a Youtube channel together, which Jon adeptly named Game Grumps. They fantasized about this channel, planning all sort of series and gags and merchandise, each wishing they didn't live on the opposite side of the country. It stuck with them, a crazy scheme that they could laugh about in the daylight and be kept awake by at night. It remained out of reach.

Until Barry and Jon moved.

 

“This is dumb,” Jon muttered, crossing his arms.

Barry didn't take his eyes off the road. “I'm telling you, man, this might work.”

Jon didn't reply, choosing instead to stew in his own negativity. They were currently on their way to meet Arin at his apartment. Barry had already met the dude in person, having flown in to L.A. a couple days earlier than Jon. Today would be the first time they'd met face-to-face.

It had all seemed to fly into place. As soon as Jon and Barry announced to Arin they were moving, the man had lost his mind. He'd begun doing some serious planning, going so far as to buy a microphone and proper editing program, even claiming the Youtube URL Game Grumps. Jon had barely done anything, just squeaked his shocked approval when Arin officially asked him to be his partner on Game Grumps. He could remember the exact tone of Arin's voice over the long-distance call.

“It'll be just like we planned!” Arin had practically shouted. “Barry can edit, we can film at my place, we're actually gonna do it!”

And here they were.

“I feel like I'm rushing into my own marriage,” Jon mumbled. “Tie the goddamn knot, Steve, it's been three months.”

Barry chuckled, and Jon glowered. His friend wasn't taking his misgivings seriously. So what they had talked pretty much non-stop for a year? That didn't mean anything in the long-term. What if they got there and Arin just kicked them out after, like, five minutes?

“Two minutes,” Barry warned, making a sharp left turn.

Jon didn't talk for the rest of the car ride. He gazed out the window at the blur of gray leaves, passing by so swiftly that he could barely register them before they disappeared. L.A. was so devoid of greenery that it actually sort of depressed him. He was used to the freshness of Central Park, lines of thin birch trees framing the sidewalks.

At least their new apartment was nice enough. Nothing fancy, and they hadn't taken much of their belongings with them across the country, but it would do. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and really, what more do you need?

Well, you need a solid job. And neither Jon nor Barry had a solid job. They just had a half-baked promise formed in the middle of the night, some vague notion of fame, fortune, and grandeur. They might film two episodes and give up, they might carry on for years and never get anywhere.

But the eagerness in Arin's voice hit hard, piercing through his chest and tugging on his heart so delicately he wanted to weep. The admittedly brash tone over the phone, urging Jon to believe in it, take a leap, and Jon just wasn't able to say no. He moved across the country. He filmed a promo for the new channel. All for some dude.

He better not fucking regret it.

 

“This is it?”

Barry shot him a sideways glance. “You've asked that like, three times, Jon. This is it.”

Jon gazed up at the apartment building. It was nothing special: pale brick with wide windows. A sign at the door reminded them that there were security cameras on the premise, and how breaking and entering would not be permitted. He needed no reminder of that. Jon fiddled with his hat, looked down at his phone, then back up at the building.

“But you're sure this is it?”

That's how they found themselves trekking up a narrow staircase, huffing and puffing enough for it to be embarrassing. Barry lead the way down the hall, counting apartment numbers under his breath as Jon trudged behind him like a scolded child, watching floor tiles flit past his feet and hearing doubts roar through his mind. He almost didn't notice Barry knocking on a nearly black door. Then he jumped to attention, straightening up, trying to be presentable for a man who had 100% seen him in his boxers over Skype.

Barry grinned at Jon, eyes alight, which did very little to soothe Jon's pumping heart. A couple of moments later, and the door swung open.

“Hey!”

Just as loud in real life, it seemed.

Jon stared up at Arin in wonder. He was definitely taller than expected: way taller. He easily passed six feet. His long bangs framed an oval, lively face, and those dark eyes seemed to burst with eagerness. It seemed to Jon that it would be nearly impossible to dislike this man.

Holy shit. They might actually pull this off.

“Come in, jeez, come in.” They were waved inside with bravado. “Barry, man, glad you found this place again.”

Jon examined the apartment, stepping neatly through the doorway. A couch faced a decently-sized TV, surrounded by consoles Jon recognized from his childhood. Shelves hung on the wall contained rows upon rows of action figures, all the way from Pac-Man to Zelda. Some sweaters were strewn about, but all in all, a very average apartment, one he had seen through grainy Skype calls many times. As expected, Arin was wearing plaid pyjama bottoms, and some sort of t-shirt with a logo Jon didn't know. It was what he expected, what he had come to learn about Arin. He turned to find Arin staring at him with as much wonder as Jon felt himself.

“And Jon,” Arin said, sounding almost awed. “I never thought we'd actually do it, man.”

Arin held out a hand, beaming. Jon returned it, and grasped his hand firmly.

That's when it happened.

The first thing he noticed was the pink of Arin's shirt. It flooded the fabric, twisting and weaving its way on, grabbing Jon's attention and holding tight to it. It was pale yet vibrant, so distinct and unseen, so beautiful. Jon stared, and his hand tightened on Arin's subconsciously. He gripped those fingers hard, clutching onto the realization that this was it.

When he finally managed to rip his eyes away, he found that Arin's eyes were no longer a mottled gray, but a rich brown. They seemed to promise warmth and hide a depth previously unknown to him. They were unbelievable. This was unbelievable. He never thought that his soulmate would be someone who was staring him in the face all along.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Arin, do you see this?”

“What?”

The next thing he noticed was Arin's brow furrowed in confusion.

Jon rolled his eyes. Of course Arin would mess with him like this, make a joke out of a profound moment, that was so like him.

“The colours, dumb ass, the freaking colours!”

Arin's face scrunched up. He delicately withdrew his hand from Jon's, and Jon wanted to leap after them, to hold on for a minute longer. Or two minutes. Or an hour. Or a day.

“What are you talking about?”

Everything else seemed to ripple, and then the colours were there. The brown of the couch, the offensively bright figurines, the pallor of Arin's skin, the rosiness of his lips and the blues and greens of his pyjama bottoms.

A hint of frustration rose in Jon's chest. “Dude, cut it out, seriously, look!” He held up his own hand, amazed by the healthy tan it showed. He was darker than Arin, with even darker arm hair along his forearms. “This is incredible!”

After a heartbeat, Arin's eyes lit up. He started to laugh, and Jon did too, giddy in his surprise.

“Nice one,” Arin sniggered, giving Jon a light shove. “Cut it out, man, you're scaring Barry.”

Hold on.

Jon cast a look at a shocked and confused Barry. Damn, his eyes were bright. But his attention very quickly returned to Arin.

“What? I'm not joking,” he protested, but Arin was walking away, gesturing for them to follow.

Arin just shook his head, amused. “I'll show you the recording stuff I got.”

 

Jon examined his reflection.

“I can't believe everyone let me wear this atrocity,” he muttered, snatching the hat off his head.

The object in question was an ugly blue, too dark and too murky. His hair stuck up in tufts, a mess that he could now describe as being extremely dark brown. He replaced the hat with another one, a greenish sort of piece of cloth. It worked better.

He remembered his mother adjusting a tie around his neck. “It matches your eyes,” she would coo, ever affectionate.

That really didn't make any sense now. His eyes were brown, roughly the same shade of Arin's.

Ah yes. Arin.

The entire day they'd spent together, Jon had waited for Arin to drop the act, laugh loudly and proclaim Jon a fool for believing in his little act. He waited for the confirmation that yes, they were soulmates, and no, Jon hadn't gone crazy. But he received no such approval. He dropped subtle hints, commenting on the pleasant shade of his pillows, or asking if the microphone came in different colours. No response, just a few chuckles. Barry had informed Arin that Jon could be a real trickster, and Arin took it to heart, passing off Jon's desperate looks and continuous badgering as dedication to the bit.

It was something you grew up waiting for, a big moment, drum roll please, let me pick the winning number. Your partner in crime, your amigo, the love of your life, your soulmate, for fuck's sake. This wasn't something you let slip by. Jon looked himself in the eye, and swore he would make the man crack.

 

“Hey dude, nice green t-shirt.”

Arin opened the door wider. “So you're really committed to this, huh?”

Jon hid his disappointment behind a little cackle. He had planned to spring on Arin the moment he arrived, catching the guy by surprise, and therefore forcing him to reveal his hand. Maybe Arin was better than he thought.

While they weren't filming, Jon genuinely considered their day together one of the best of his life. When they were planning episodes, selecting games, it was almost as though the hues slipped away, leaving the truth naked in black and white. They were made to be friends.

It was just as easy as talking over Skype, arguably even easier. They slid into a comfortable routine, joking and kidding, revelling in the mere fact that they were together. At the end of the day, Jon looked took a long look at Arin. His friend was laughing hard, the skin around his eyes crinkling, and he was leaning against Jon, trusting him to keep him standing, casual after only really knowing each other for two days. But Jon could see the stray brown hairs around Arin's eyebrows, the white of his teeth, and some part of him wondered if Arin really saw nothing.

It didn't make sense.


	2. Chapter 2

_It is not uncommon for the colours to manifest at different rates. Some have reported the world suddenly lighting up after the first touch, others say that they could only see certain colours in the beginning, the other hues inching in gradually._

 

Jon had begun some in-depth research into soulmates. So far, he could find no mention of only one person seeing colour. He found information about the requirements of contact, whether it had to be skin-to-skin or not, theories on whether or not you were guaranteed to meet your significant other, and studies into how quickly all the colours manifested.

There really was no scientific explanation behind this miracle. It was nearly impossible to conduct experiments on, as it would only happen once in someone's lifetime, and you never truly knew who your soulmate was until it happened. Researches struggled to get actual data, spending years trying to connect a test subject with their other, until to have the subject meet them in a McDonald's, away from all the machinery.

The idea of colours appearing slowly stuck with Jon. It was possible that maybe Arin couldn't see any shades yet, or perhaps hadn't noticed grays shift into very dark browns or true blacks. After a month of this, it seemed unlikely. But he clutched onto the theory, because really, it was the only possibility.

“Arin!” Jon screeched, bursting into the recording room. “What the hell is this about losing footage?”

Arin leaped to his feet, equally angry. “It's bullshit! Barry went to edit it and it was just gone!”

Jon peered at him suspiciously. “Did you actually start the recording?”

“Yes!” Arin exclaimed, offended.

Jon deflated, groaning and flopping on the couch. “Whatever. We'll just film something else. How do you feel about Sonic?”

 

The channel was thriving like never before. Both of their previous fans had come running, and they were doing an incredible job spreading their stuff around. A paid advertisement couldn't have done it better.

They were currently celebrating their success, him, Barry, and Arin. A few of their other friends had come around earlier, filling the recording room and living room, a space Jon jealously considered his and Arin's. He couldn't find it in himself to be anything but overjoyed, however, the subscriber count flashing before his eyes, Arin wrapping him up in a giant hug, shouting and holler, hair flying about, eyes gleaming, and goddamn, triumph looked good on him.

“Pass me a beer,” Arin burped, “you gremlin.”

Jon lazily tossed a can in his direction. “Fuck off, you deformed giant.”

Barry giggled, his flannel unbuttoned two levels lower than normal. Jon and Arin were sprawled over the living room couch, Arin's legs obscenely spread, Jon laying on his back. A bizarre tingle filled their stomachs, sending bubbles up their ribcage, rattling around their lungs and making their hearts twitch. Dim light from the city shone through a window, casting the room in a blue light. Jon giggled at nothing, and wiggled about on the couch, unable to keep still.

“Three months ago we were living across the country,” Barry said suddenly. “What the heck happened?”

Arin nodded. “I never thought we'd pull it off, man.”

Jon giggled again. “Nice to know you have some goddamn faith in us.”

“No, serious though,” Arin insisted. “What were the odds? I never thought we'd be popular, nevermind that you'd even move all the way over here. I wanted you to, don't get me wrong, I really did, but... It was only a dream, y'know?”

Jon twisted so he could look at Arin. Even from the upside down view, he knew that profile, the one he sat by nearly every day.

“We're just two dudes screaming into a microphone. It's nothing special.”

Barry fiddled with the tab on his beer. “I think it's special. So do all your subscribers.”

“I know what you mean,” Jon blurted, needing Arin to know he felt the same. “I looked up apartments in L.A. Sort of as a joke, or just because I was bored, I don't even remember. That's how random it was.”

Arin fixed his gaze on Jon. His eyes were glassy, and Jon couldn't decide if it was from the booze or tears.

“I'm sure glad you did though, man.”

 

“Notice anything different?”

Arin lifted his head. Jon struck a dramatic pose for him, heart hammering in his chest. A moment passed by, in which Arin raised his eyebrows.

“I don't know. New shirt?”

Jon's heart slowed, immediate in its disappointment. He beamed at Arin though, doing a showy little twirl. “Yeah, dude.”

Every once in awhile, Jon would ask Arin about his own appearance. Surely, the colours should have appeared by now, and this was his last-ditch effort to make Arin see. He felt like hauling the man down to his level, and forcing him to look into Jon's eyes until he saw the murky brown that stared at him from the mirror every morning now.

Arin seemed pleased, and went back to examining the game cartridge in his hands.

 

Five months. It was five months from the day they'd met, when their skin brushed, and Jon's entire existence was flipped upside down, while Arin remained precisely in balance. It wasn't fair, Jon reeling through space without an explanation.

For once in his life, the internet had failed.

The answers weren't forthcoming. He had suffered through an entire scientific essay, full of unpronounceable words and headache-inducing terms, only to find that longest time someone had gone on record without seeing the shades after touching their soulmate was three hours. So Arin would be roughly 3,572 hours off, which seemed ludicrous. This obviously wasn't the right explanation. There had to be something, something he was missing.

Desperation pumped through Jon's veins, his fingertips hurting from the amount of pressure he was using to type. He felt like he'd looked everywhere from Wikipedia to a middle school child's heritage fair project. No data, no journal, no hint of anyone else's soulmate not seeing what they did.

Barry found him asleep on top of his laptop the next morning, shadows beneath his eyes.

 

The shirts were all laid out, beautiful and crisp. They were a sight to behold, physical proof that steps were being taken. Jon couldn't stop staring at the navy blue, the bold letters reading “Game Grumps” across the top. The false microphone wound behind his ear slanted forwards again, and he cursed, fixing it in place yet again.

“Let me see that.”

He jumped slightly at the sudden voice behind him. “Christ, Arin, don't do that.”

Arin swatted Jon's hands away from his earpiece, replacing them with his own. “Stop touching this thing, and it won't fall off.”

“Whatever, mom,” Jon drawled, stiffening so Arin could help him out.

His fingers brushed lightly against the skin behind his ear, and Jon squirmed away, whining. “Arrriiiiiinnn!”

A friend of theirs behind the camera waved, signalling them to get their asses in gear. It was all set up, the table of merchandise, unbelievable shirts with their cartoon faces, for people who liked their silly bullshit. It was all unreal. Something you never actually thought would happen.

And yeah, Jon loved his own channel. Jontron would always make him swell with pride, but Game Grumps held a special place in his heart. He got to sit down every day and do what he loved with the most incredible guy. He got to look next to him, and every time he was there, with that dorky laugh, lazy dress style, long hair, and every time Jon's stomach did some Olympic-level flips.

Something he never actually thought would happen. At least not like this.

They flew through the filming, through gags and jokes and mistakes and perfections. It went a lot smoother than expected. Finally, all that remained was the scene where Jon was supposed to dunk a shirt in blue water, then squeeze it all over the table. A minor argument had broken out over this idea, Jon arguing that they were going to ruin and waste a shirt and make a huge mess, Arin pointing out the delightful humour in it. The dust settled when Barry piped up and said he'd take the shirt.

“See that?” Jon asked the camera, wringing out the clothing. It splattered all over the table, even dripping onto the carpet. “See that quality?”

At last, he stopped, dropping the shirt as though it were diseased, and shaking droplets off his hands. “How was that?”

He glanced up, then did a double-take. Arin was staring at him solemnly, a look so unusual it didn't look right on his face. Jon felt a nervous smile edge onto his face.

“Could you even see it in the capture? Could you even see the water?”

It might have been to dark. It might have all been for nought. Oh God, it was all for nought!

Arin mumbled, “I didn't hit record.”

Jon just stared at him. Arin repeated, “I didn't hit record, dude.”

There was a small grin edging on Arin's face, but his voice was so serious. Jon shook his head, his own smile widening.

“You're joking.”

“No, dude, I didn't hit record!” Arin insisted.

“No way. Seriously?”

“Seriously. I didn't get it.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm not!”

Jon shifted, fumbling around, looking for something to grab. “Should we do it again? I don't know, would it work?” He looked back at Arin. “You must be joking.”

This time the humour on Arin's face was real. “Yeah, I'm joking.”

“Arrriiiiiinnn!” Jon snatched up the soaked t-shirt and whipped it at him. “Don't do that!”


	3. Chapter 3

_When one's soulmate dies, the colours fade away. It is almost exactly like how the appear, in a flash, a flood, or a gentle wave. This experience is much more dire, of course, and cannot be fixed. Once the colour's are gone, they are gone forever._

 

It was Arin who introduced them. He bubbled over with excitement of bringing this person into Jon's life, assuring him they were the real deal, that they could be a part of the team. Jon, ever the skeptic, questioned if anyone could get their gags. Apparently this Suzy character could.

The way Arin raved on about her made Jon wonder. This girl seemed to impact him so much, never failed to improve his mood when Jon could not, for all his efforts. Those times when they fought over footage, and with a simple text all the tension flew out of Arin's shoulders. The monster turned into a kitten.

But they had met in person, and Arin would have told him if they were soulmates. Arin and Jon were as close as close could be; it would appear that way to any outside party. Hell, it appeared that way to Arin.

Bright aquamarines and oranges haunted Jon, nevermind the gentle brown that faced him at every turn.

When Suzy magically came to be in the apartment, Jon took a liking to her immediately. Her immaculate makeup and dyed hair hid a soft personality, and her gentle laugh made him think of fairy dust. She didn't have the comedic presence of him or Arin, but her quiet side comments made up for it, a little gem among the beach sand dressed in cute, Victorian-era clothing. She was quirky, sure, but who wasn't? Either way, she did fit in well. In another lifetime, he saw her and Arin garbed in wedding clothes, church bells chiming for all to hear, but Suzy's sense of colour coordination came from years of seeing the way the world was meant to be seen. Arin never spoke of shades lighting his world, and Jon liked it that way.

She reported to them about requests from fans, pushed them to make a Twitter account, bought them props, ordered their food, and, at the end of the day, made their lives a little easier and a little happier. They'd never call her a secretary, just a beloved friend.

Sonic 06 was one of the most spoken of gaming series on Youtube, ringing in hundreds of hits a week, and continued to climb.

The brilliant Barry was pumping out finished episodes every day, rarely away from his own computer. They tried to urge him into the spotlight, but the quiet editor delighted in making snarky comments in yellow text and no more.

“We've got this,” Arin would brag as they sank into the couch for the millionth time. Jon was convinced that scientists would find their butt prints on this very couch in the far future. “Don't worry about it.”

God, that man enraged him. He was so dumbly beautiful, with this heart of pure gold that made Jon want to go to church, kneel down, and beg forgiveness for his sins. He wanted to drown himself in that man, grab his face and smash their lips together, in a desperate plea of needing love, of wanting that connection. Every day he was screaming internally and externally, but Arin was apparently blind and deaf, holding Jon close to his heart but never opening the gate. Jon was doing everything he could, encouraging him, spending time with him, keeping him on earth when he would get too excited, he was giving his soul to this man through his actions, but his actions could not bring reds and greens and yellows into Arin's eyes, they could not give him the colours of the rainbow when all Arin saw was the black and white goodness of a friend. He couldn't explain what had gone wrong. He couldn't explain  why it had gone wrong, they fit together like a two-piece jigsaw puzzle: no other solution possible. He considered the possibility that this was punishment for some past life; you may reach for Apollo's hand, but he will never take it.

Jon would nod firmly, grabbing a controller. “Yeah, we have got this.”

 

Alright, so, it didn't take a genius to realize Arin wasn't dead. The man was alive and well; in fact, no one seemed so alive to Jon. He breathed pure energy. This fact crossed another reason off Jon's list. His search history resembled that of a lovesick teenager's: lonely and hormonal. 

At this point, Jon accepted that he was no longer searching for a cure. He wouldn't find one. He knew he wouldn't find one.

Some parts of human behaviour are inexplicable. It's simply a part of our existence. We condemn ourselves for it, but cannot stop, like the hypocrites we are. Every damn philosopher in the book called humans crazy. Why do we jump in surprise, what urge drives us to keep breathing even when we are asleep, why do we hurt ourselves even when we know the outcome?

Why do we keep looking, even when we know what we are looking for will not be found?

 

“DUDE!”

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin as Arin literally kicked in the door, filling it with his massive, energetic frame. His eyes were wild, and he almost seemed to be panting. It was terrifying.

“Apple picking!” Arin bellowed.

Jon stared at him a moment longer, at the tiny piece of paper clutched in his hands. “Eh, what?”

“Apple picking,” Arin repeated, no less excited the second time. “Check it out, I saw this on the way here.”

He tossed the paper to Jon, who grumbled and picked it up from where it had fluttered pathetically to the ground. It had the texture of newspaper, and was badly faded, as though many years old. It felt sort of soggy, and Jon pulled a face. “Christ, where'd you get this?”

“It was one of those ads stapled to a post, look, you can see where I ripped it-”

“Ew!” Jon flicked it away. Arin rolled his eyes, picking it back up and forcing it into his hands.

“Just read it?”

Fine. He examined it, albeit a little grumpily, squinting to read the half gone words. It was an ad for an apple orchard outside of L.A., where you could go pay a certain fee and collect apples to take home. His brow furrowed, and he looked up at Arin.

“Ok, so, why am I reading this?”

Arin looked like his mind was imploding over and over again. “We could go apple picking! Like, actually picking apples from a tree and putting them in a basket!”

Jon just gaped in disbelief. This was it. He had finally snapped. Why the hell would he be getting so-

Ohhhh.

Jon burst out laughing, genuinely taking Arin by surprise. He wheezed, flapping a hand as though that would help him catch his breath.

“Arin, you giant doof, are you trying to tell me you want to go apple picking?”

“... Yes?”

That just made him laugh harder, until it could only be described as a cackle, a sound only an insane person would make. Despite himself, Arin began to laugh too, overcome by the sight of his friend purely losing it.

“Oh my God,” Jon gasped, “Arin, lemme tell you, bud; apple picking is much more common in the north.”

But goddamn, he couldn't say no to that face, now could he?

After gathering their thoughts, and their wallets, they hopped in Arin's car, to begin the spontaneous trek. Arin revved the engine perhaps a little bit more than necessary, and they took off, cruising down the highway out of L.A., giggling like maniacs.

“Holy shit!” Jon cried with glee, pointing at Arin's hands on the steering wheel. “Dude, chill out, look how clenched your hands are!”

Arin barked with laughter, removing his hands from the wheel in order to shake them out, making Jon scream as if they were sailing into oncoming traffic.

“Hands on the  fucking wheel, man!”

Outside their small confines, the world rushed by, an entire universe spinning and breathing with little thought of two men rushing headlong into their own kind of adventure. And it didn't matter that it was nothing huge or life threatening, it didn't matter that maybe they'd forgotten to bring snacks, or that Jon was supposed to be home in time to help Barry with supper; none of it mattered. The world turned as though there was nothing exciting going on, but in every breath, every burst of laughter or unnecessary scream, they knew that something very wonderful was happening indeed.

Arin tossed his hair, nodding at the radio. “Get us some tunes going.”

Jon fiddled with the dials, listening intently. Static gave way into melody, and he beamed. “Oh, this is good, this is some good stuff.”

The guitar riffs of a classic rock song drifted into the car, filling them with a heart-pounding sense of exhilaration. Jon waited eagerly for Arin's reaction, and was not disappointed. At the sound of that well-known piano bit, the man's mouth dropped open, and he whipped his head around to stare at Jon. Jon clapped gleefully like a toddler.

“What are the odds? Don't Stop Believing? Are you  joking ?”

The chorus burst in, and Arin cranked the volume, guaranteeing that every other nearby car could hear. Arin bobbed his head to the beat, and Jon did some sick air-guitar-ing, face scrunched up. They sang along, voices cracking in beautiful freedom. They were belting out the lyrics with the passion of men gone mad, in fact, Jon was positive they'd gone mad, as the sun rose higher in the sky, lighting the day with the most brilliant shade of blue, and the trees were like fireworks, red, orange, gold, sparks soaring through the atmosphere and into their hearts, pumping, pumping, pumping. The highway sped past, yellow dotted lines fading into a blur, the other vehicles diminishing into a blur, everything was a blur, except for Arin, and Jon, and the music thumping against their ribs like a pulse that never ended. He sang and he laughed, and he looked at Arin and saw the purest form of friendship and love, and Arin looked back at Jon, and he saw it. He saw it in Arin's eyes, that glow, that thankfulness, that undeniable echo of love, and it made everything worth it, made the days of fucking agony, watching movies in full-blown colour next to a man who commented on the near-white of an actor's eyes. The hours upon hours of dropping hints and making a fool of himself to see if Arin would drop the act that Jon knew was no longer an act, but he tried long past the expiration date of his hope. The endless nights of staring into a mirror and trying to change something, to change  anything , to make himself what Arin wanted, he would do it, whatever it took, he would act like Suzy, or Ross, or Barry, or whoever Arin had smiled at last because he wanted that smile to be in his life, forever in his life, he needed it to be. He would look at his messy hair, his round face, his short stature, he would shave his beard and change his dress style, he would fake a laugh and listen to whatever Arin had to say, be it 4 PM or 4 AM, he was there, even if he acted grumpy, why the hell would he ever leave? He would never leave. These moments made it all worth it, these times that forced Jon to wonder if maybe their lives would change, maybe Arin would finally see, if he tried hard enough maybe he could change those  fucking “fundamentals of seeing colour”, the websites said, that's what they  all said, these are the rules,  this is how it goes, don't  think it will ever change.

And it didn't.

It didn't change.

But Arin was laughing.

He was sitting next to Jon by choice, laughing unashamedly at a shitty impression Jon had done. They were together, going apple picking of all things, and the fireworks outside were bursting in slow motion. Everything, at this moment, was perfect, and there would be times like this again.

Goddamn, Arin was so perfect.

And so Jon cracked up with him, and did the impression again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Perhaps the most simple rule of all is that every person has only one soulmate. Once a soulmate dies, their counterpart will never receive another. There are no records of a person having two soulmates. It is hypothesized that this is so no person will ever be left alone._

 

It was Ross who introduced them. The Australian man, the newest addition to their weird little family, had met the dude by chance, and had proceeded to never. Shut. Up. About. Him. Granted, he seemed really cool. And his music was rad. Dan Avidan, of NSP. Pretty unbelievable. Ross claimed that he was, “like seven million feet tall” and was, “the sickest, raddest, baddest dude ever” and, “can we please keep him, Mom and Dad?” Jon was newer to the band, but Arin was a long-time fan. He begged and pleaded with Ross to set up a meeting. Rather than comply to Arin's will, Ross gave him the man's phone number, told him to do it himself.

“If you can stop acting like a fanboy,” were Ross' exact words. Arin took it like a personal challenge, and texted the guy. Brief introduction, well-timed joke, and they took off like long lost twins. Even with Arin's unceasing attempts, they had a hard time arranging a meet up date. If Dan was free, Arin was supposed to be recording with Jon, and, despite Jon's nonchalant (but secretly sorrowful) urgings, Arin refused to miss one of those dates. It became a common topic of conversation, building up Dan so much that soon Jon was trying to rearrange their schedule around this man. He really seemed to fit in.

They managed to do it. The day of the meeting had arrived. And someone was knocking at the door.

Arin and Ross froze in the middle of the living room. Barry rolled his eyes. Jon went for the door. He swung it open, and felt the smile slide off his face because _holy shit this guy was actually like seven million feet tall_.

“Jon! Dude!” Dan was all smiles, a bundle of joy crammed in a skinny body, and he immediately went for a handshake. “Finally, am I right?”

Jon got swept up in it, shaking himself out of awe and returning the enthusiasm, shaking his hand and welcoming the guy inside. As Dan shuffled in, Jon turned to point out his friends. They hadn't moved an inch. He rolled his eyes.

“There's Ross, Barry, and Arin.”

He had to resist the urge to laugh. Arin seemed starstruck, his eyes alight with shock and excitement. Slowly, as though moving through jello, he made his way over, a grin slowly appearing as he adjusted to the idea of a 'rock star' in his home. He cracked a joke, flipping his lengthening bangs out of his face, and extended a hand to Dan, who gripped it eagerly.

Then Jon saw it.

He saw the moment where their brains froze, bodies tensing up and faces losing all emotions. He saw the way they immediately disregarded their surroundings. He saw Dan's eyes drift down to the pink of Arin's shirt, knew he was seeing the delicate colour, faded from when Jon first saw it, weave its way into his life, a river of disbelief and beauty all on its own, he saw their grips tighten subconsciously, holding tight to something they would never let go of ever again, he saw the weight change in Arin's feet, leaning closer to this man, he saw their mouths drop open slightly, he saw the awe, he saw Arin's eyes travel around Dan's face, that incredible look of indescribable emotions as he watched new hues race around Dan's mass of hair, a twisting journey, he saw how their eyes never left each other, he saw how they started to smile, he saw the words form on their lips, he saw every individual moment like it lasted a lifetime, he saw the pieces of the puzzle falling together, he saw it, every last bit of it, he saw it all in the living room of where he had stood when his own eyes had opened up and his heart had taken that leap and he saw what he must have looked like almost two years ago. Jon saw it.

And Jon understood.

  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is obviously not real, but I just want to say one thing.  
> Don't ever villanize Arin, Jon, or Dan, please. They're all people who have the right to make choices.  
> But, on the bright side, thank you so much for reading! I really hope you liked it!


End file.
